


End of the Road

by klahiie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Ableist Language, Abuse, Child Abuse, Dixoncest, Homophobia, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Post Apocalypse, Pre-Apocalypse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, dixcest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klahiie/pseuds/klahiie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dixon's have lived to see many things. Now together, they see the end of the world and Daryl can't help but go back and relive his past; something he'd been trying to run for for nearly 36 years.</p><p>Please comment if you like, maybe? Knowing it's decently received is very rewarding~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains a lot of swear words, and abusing situations. It also has Dixcest and rape situations involving Daryl (who is 16 the first time it happens). There will be ableist language, slurs and insults as well as non-con and incest, child abuse, drug use and a lot of other really bad shit. 
> 
> If you don't like this sort of thing, please PLEASE don't read. I don't typically tend to hold back when I write and things can get triggering. If you are easily triggered this fic is not for you. Please turn back now.

Chapter One

 

**S** ilence. 

The entire world was covered in silence now, but it was as if nothing had changed. Not the world the younger Dixon boy lived in anyway. 

His childhood was spent surrounded by trees. Lost in the woods but purposely so. Far away from society and the people in it. 

Everything had changed, but it hadn’t. 

“Still out here, Darlene?” The rough and ragged voice of the one person he’d fought so hard to re-unite with grated against his eardrums. It was a pleasant grating, even if it sent a ripple of annoyance through him. 

Daryl looked up at the older Dixon as he came out onto the front porch of the old house they squatted in. Home to an older couple who opted out a week back -or so the rate of decay said. Took a bit to remove the bodies with all the maggots in their bellies. The smell of rot was disgusting. Not like any deer or dog he’d hovered over at the same point. 

“Whaddya mean?” He muttered, leaning against the wooden post, foot up and resting on the railing he perched on. 

“Y’ain’t been t’bed yet.” Merle admitted, leaning against the door, beer in his hand already. 

“An’ y’ain’t stopped drinkin’ yet.” Daryl grunted. His brother just smirked, chuckling as he brought the spit and beer glossed bottle opening to his lips. 

There was silence. A respected silence that both Dixon boys were familiar with, but only one that one boy yearned for. Even the cicada’s hadn’t come out. The air was still cold, not yet warmed up from the blistering Georgia sun. But things wouldn’t stay dead for long. No. Nothing did now a days. 

Off across the long yard, shambling from a line of trees was proof. Proof the world had crumbled while the Dixon boys were stuck in an infinite loop of seclusion. Lost in the woods, but purposely so.

Well, the woods could no longer serve to protect them. Not any longer. 

Pushing himself from the railing, Daryl reached for his crossbow only to have it snatched from him. His eyes shot up to his brother in confusion, sunlight illuminating the tattoo on his flesh. A burning skull with messy black hair that said  _ Et Succendit Quae in Memoria _ . A date tattooed in a ribbon wrapped through the eyes around the back of the skull and wrapping the jaw jagged and broke establishing 1990. 

The year their mother died. An old tattoo that was faded and torn by scars and scratch marks. It was the closest thing to grieving Daryl had seen Merle do. And that tattoo was her urn. 

“I got it.” He flashed his baby brother a cocky, half lipped grin before downing the last half of the stale Budlight found in the back end of the pantry. Perhaps stockpiled incase shit ever went south, but judging by the cryptic, psycho-babble plastered on bits of paper found across the house, these couple were two worlds apart. The wife suffering from Dementia, the husband with Alzheimer’s. 

Like the blind screaming to be lead but the deaf man can’t see in the dim light of the perpetually locked closet known as hell. 

It made Daryl sad thinking about it. He forgot her every day, and he couldn’t remember why he married her, or why he even would because she was so far gone. Living every day thinking you must have been ill so long you damned yourself to stay with someone so out of it. Knowing your mind is unravelling, but feeling guilty because they aren’t well either. And being so out of touch your mind is unable to help you take care of a loved one or deal with the constant need to remind them who you are. 

He watched as Merle walked off the porch, hips swaying, cock-sure as usual. His shoulders square and back straight as a rod. His brother still carried himself like an army man. Like a man who wanted to better himself at one point, but just like the old man with Alzheimers, he forgot how to shut his mouth. He forgot just how important his chance at escaping it was. And just like Icarus, his wings of wax melted and right back to the Earth he tumbled. 

Daryl watched as he met the shufflers halfway across the field. Standing still, squared off. He hung himself like a toy, ready for whatever it had. But he wouldn’t let himself go down. Not anymore. Not willingly. 

The world had ended, but Merle Dixon had not. And this only opened a door for his growth. His vengeance on a world that let him fall, and kicked him as he was down. Who was Daryl to take that from him? All his anger; correct his rage and perverse sadistic payback? 

Taking the beer bottle in his hand, Merle looked down at it as the growling and hissing was carried on the still wind, feet thumping in the soft dirt, kicking up spores from a planet that wasn’t dead yet, but life-support was failing. 

Cranking his hand back, he smashed it against the face of the shambler, knocking it back. There was a darkness that Daryl could see, even all the way across the field. Even with all of the morning light that illuminated everything around him, and his little brother knew what it was. 

Years of holding his tongue. Years of holding back his pain as people crushed him, kicked him and said he was nothing but a greedy, nappy ass, white trash, redneck, uneducated piece of shit. 

Well, Merle was alive. 

And so was Daryl. 

The world ending would just be the beginning. 

They were out of the woods now, and one person at a time, they would restore their own silence. Just as they always did. 

They were Dixon’s. 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a couple years of being MIA, Merle returns home to find his Pa beating on his baby brother. But that's not all he finds as he whisks the younger boy to safety from his father's bullshit. Whatever morals he has begin to get in the way, but they're so chipped and shattered that they won't last long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> homophobic language, violence and abusive behavior. First little bit of look at Dixcest.

 

  
  


**1995**

 

He watched as the hot water ran over swollen fingers, blood washing away from the creases his knuckles made in his flesh. Cuts and calluses; his mother always told him were gold medals for accomplishing each and every day, from start to finish. How sore they looked and how empty they made him feel. 

“Daryl!” His Pa hollered from the living room, voice gruff and riddled with phlegm to which he began to hack up. Leaning over he grabbed an empty bottle by the foot of the tattered, stained and faded sofa and dribbled it down the inside of the glass neck into a pooled collection of two or three days worth. 

“Yeah?” He hollered back, shutting the sink off. There was no answer, instead an unruly grumble and pall of vehement curses. He waited, listening for any follow up. When nothing came he pulled the bloody meat from the bowl in the other half of the sink and transferred it to a strainer. 

“Daryl!” He screamed again. 

“What?” Daryl hollered back, this time making sure his Pa could hear him. Perhaps not the best of moves. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ snap at me y’lil fuckin’ puke!” He growled. “I’ll come out there an’ bust that cock washer straight outta yer fuckin’ face!” The sound of the sofa creaking sent a little dancing flicker of fear through him. One that made his breath hitch in his throat and his muscles tighten. 

“I ain’t yellin’!” He hollered back. “Jus’ wan’ed t’make sure y’could hear me this time.” He tried to reassure him that he wasn’t trying to back talk. Of course, it didn’t rightly matter with his Pa. If he wanted a fight, he’d get one. 

“You callin’ me deaf?” The springs on the sofa squealed and automatically Daryl turned, putting his back against the counter. Footsteps pounded against the carpet, then the cracked tiles as his intestines knotted. 

His Pa emerging from the darkened living room was like watching a demon step forward from the shadows. Eyes red from being bloodshot. The smell of beer on his breath and pot on his clothes. 

His Pa was 250 pounds of muscle and beer belly. Hair black and short, receding hair line. Merle was the unfortunate one, graced with his early balding. Any other time, he would be comical to look at. 6’3”, thick and aging. But the way he stood, clothes hanging off of him made him look like a lake drudged body, pulled from the waterbed after a couple weeks. Flannel shirt tatted, denim pants stained with oil and blood, ripped along the knees. 

“No sir.” Daryl whispered, looking at him. He was trying to salvage this, not wanting another fight with his Pa. Not wanting his to brace himself again for more pain. 

“Are you callin’ me deaf!” He practically darted at him, like a monster from a nightmare. He grabbed the boy by the shirt as he brought his arms up to cover his face, an involuntary scream coming from his lips. “Shut up!” He snarled, pulling his arms out of the way to get to the front of his shirt. “Shut the fuck up.” He swung, knuckles cracking as they collided with the side of Daryl’s head. 

“Please don’t.” The boy sobbed, trying to curl up into himself. 

“Pussy!” His father screamed, stepping back. He let the boy slide to he floor before grabbing his hair. “Fucking pussy! I ain’t raise no pussy!” He tried to pull him out of the corner, but the short hair made it difficult. All he managed to get was a small handful pulled from it’s roots. Clenching his fist he swung it down and to the side, knocking it against the side of the boy’s head again, bouncing it off the cabinet next to him. 

Daryl gasped as his vision flashed red for a second behind tightly closed eyelids. He lipped over and over again, trying to get his voice to work, apologizing in silent pathetic squeaks. “You lil’ fuckin’ pussy,” he growled, standing over him. He couldn’t believe the sight in front of him. His 15 year old boy, curled up like a damn bitch, crying. “You fuckin’ pussy ass bitch. If yer gonna act like a pussy, ya’ll’r gonna do what pussies do.” He grabbed his hair, wrenching it up so his son looked at him. 

Those blue eyes, bloodshot and tired, swollen with tears. His bottom lip quivered as he whispered it again. 

“I’m sorry.” 

God damn did the boy have no fucking balls in his pants? Letting go of his hair he grabbed his jaw and shook his head. “I’ll make ya fuckin’ sorry!” He screamed in his face, feeling his blood boil. “Ain’t no god damn son’o’mine gonna sit there an’ cry like no god damn fuckin’ pussy! Might as well swap out tha’ lil needle dick’a yers fer a tight lil pussy! At least then I’d have some fuckin’ fun!” He slammed his head back, the boys teeth clicking loudly as his head rammed a small brass knob on the drawer behind him. 

He choked, hands shooting to the back of his head as he tried to hold back his need to scream, letting off a strangled wail disguised as a growl of pain. His arms shook as the nerves fired randomly from the hit, his jaw locking and spine burning, tears welling in his eyes. 

He knew his father wasn’t done. His father was just getting started, and if he was coming in this hard at the beginning?

He actually feared for his life. 

“Shuddup retard!” Will spat, showering the boy in spit. “Y’want me t’hurt ya? I’ll fuckin’ hurt ya!” Suddenly the door opened. Daryl didn’t look up as an ass hit the top of his head, the sound of a scuffle just above him. The messy, small metal table in the center of the kitchen with chipped white paint scraped against the floor as a body was tossed against it. 

“Y’can’t jus’ take a fucking break can ya!” Merle’s raspy voice boomed like an angel rejected from heaven itself. Like whatever twisted tale boys in his town attempted to convince him that Lucifer himself was really the doer of good and God was nothing but a tyrannical dictator. 

“Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you fuck you-” WHAM. Daryl flinched, hands over his face as his knees drew to his forearms, hiding away in the comfort of his legs. BOOM! The sound of the wood pounding as cloth hit it. The boys toes curled as he tried to make himself as small as he could, but he’d gotten so tall so fast. Not as tall as Merle or his Pa, but still tall enough to regret his growth spurts. 

“Ssh, ssh,” A warm hand grabbed his wrist. Daryl didn’t fight it. By the hushed whisper alone he knew who’d won. Who it was who went down and who it was who stood victor. “C’mere.” 

Daryl let himself topple sideways, face buried in the warm chest of his brother who he’d believed had been gone. But the roughness of his face, stubble along his neck and chin against his forehead and smell of man and cheap soap only confirmed it. “Let me see ya.” Merle moved his knees down and away from his chest, a gentle hand -still rough but more gentle than the hand he’d suffered from months before his arrival. “Shit, y’done grew somethin’ huh?” He chuckled, pulling his hands from his face. “Lemme see yer face shithead, c’mon.” 

Daryl didn’t fight, just let him pull his hands away. But he was too gentle. This wasn’t his Merle. But it was. 

Merle was always a little rough. Told him t’stop bein’ a bitch. That he should be thankin’ him or that he owed him. But this time, he was so tender. Touched his skin as if it were porcelain, fingers against his chest and trailing down his belly through thin cotton. 

He looked at him, blue eyes meeting dark, steel grey. There was nothing gentle in his face. Nothing gentle in the way the corner of his lips twisted when their eyes met. It was hungry and all too sober and it sent a thrumming through his stomach like the vibrating of an old washing machine. “Ain’t get’cha too bad. But he got ya cryin’ like a pussy down ‘ere on th’floor, huh?” He chuckled. “Shit boy, when you gonna let them berries b’tween yer legs grow an’ kick th’shit outta him yerself, hm?” He grabbed his baby brother’s arms and hauled him to his feet. 

He looked like shit. Facial hair growing in; too long to be stubble but too short to be a beard, or so Daryl thought. Looked like he hadn’t slept in days, weeks...months. Probably hadn’t. He had a few light scars, one across his jaw, a split in his lip and a rash or something up his chest, poking out the top of an worn, stretched orange scrub looking t-shirt. 

“You were in jail?” Daryl looked at him confused. He had no idea where his brother had gone, only that he had gone.

“Ain’t nobody tell you?” Merle snorted, dusting the boys ass off. “Sit’cher ass down.” He pointed at the kitchen chair. Daryl shook his head as he looked at the unconscious body on the floor, face down as vomit started to roll from between cracked lips. He’d have to clean that up later, he knew it. He always did. 

“No.” Daryl sat down. He raised his hand, rubbing gingerly at the bleeding mass on the back of his head, sniffling as his voice broke. Pulling his fingers from his hair he looked at the blood that shimmered in the dull yellow bulb of the ceiling fan. 

“Figures.” Merle muttered. Slapping his hand away he pulled his baby brother's head forward and down so his eyes fell to the floor between his feet. He parted the soft, kitten like hair to reveal a thick tear of skin. The older Dixon whistled, impressed with the vision in front of him. “He knocked yer shit ‘round good.” 

“Been knockin’ my shit ‘round good since ya left.” Daryl muttered. He reached forward and grabbed the opening of his brother’s leather jacket and clung to it, wincing as Merle pushed dirty fingertips to it. He inhaled sharply through his teeth and whine. 

“Don’t be a bitch.” Merle grunted. Taking a step back, he went to look for something to clean the cut but the clutching fingers to his jacket stopped him dead in his tracks. “Le’go.” He swiped his hands away again, dragging his tongue across dry lips. The younger boy didn’t look up. He stared straight ahead, fighting the trembling in his lower lip. A tremble that, while he attempted to keep hidden, was incredibly noticeable to his older brother. “What th’fuck’s wit’chu?” He grunted, cocking an eyebrow. 

Once more, Daryl’s eyes welled up, head tilting to look at the older brother he hadn’t scene in nearly two years. Merle could feel his heart ache as well as his stomach simultaneously swirl with nausea, and his inner thighs throb, sending pulses up to his loins. 

“You went t’jail an’ y’didn’t even try t’call us? T’call me?” Daryl’s voice was strangled, a whimper and a whine together. He inhaled deeply, trying to keep from choking. “Y’left me with this fuckin’ dickbag. I thought you’d gone away an’ left me alone. I thought you were Atlanta ‘r somethin’.” He choked, fingertips digging into the creaky, uneven wooden chair. 

Merle hated it. Seeing his little brother cry, but at the same time, it was like seeing the sweet glazed icing of a donut being poured over something sweet. It made him warm and hungry -a taste he started to acquire when in prison, and oh god was it a hunger that was hard to satiate. 

“Aw, did my baby bro miss me?” He ran his fingers through his hair, teasing him. Watching the tears fall down his cheeks were almost as hot as seeing his seed dribble down the chin of a slut. But that was a thought he pushed aside, knowing that his time locked away in the pen had warped any normal thought process. 

In there, it was dominance which quickly crumbled away to sadism. And Merle was -gladly admitting- that he was one of the most sadistic mother fuckers. Hearing some of the shit the people did while behind bars? Fucking little girls, some of them the guys own daughters. 

Oh he taught them good. 

Split him open, like tongue kissing a clam. Breaking the muscle to pry open it’s shell and expose the soft, silky inside. 

He didn’t think highly of rape. Not at all. He could get all the pussy he wanted without going too far, but in that...cage…

He was caged in with people who bragged and bragged ‘bout the shit they’d done. Tormenting people, murdering children, torturing their wives or children.  _ Laughing _ about it.  _ Laughing. _

Merle had plenty of chances to dish it right back. Dig their eyes out with his fingers, shank them with pens, toothbrushes or bludgeon their heads in with trays or ceramic covers to toilet tanks. 

No. 

Merle wanted something more effective. Something that would be remembered for years. Something that would shatter the bastard like a skee-ball through a pane of glass so he could continue to grind his heel into the shattered pieces again and again and again. And he loved it. Every inch, every person who screamed and tried to fight him off. Because he felt he was doing justice to those who’d been wronged by the bastard’s. All the children, or siblings, or wives or neighbor teens. 

But it was difficult to dissociate from that person. To remove yourself from the alpha dog status he lived for nearly two years. And seeing what used to make him sick or make him want to roll his eyes, now sent a bristle up through his veins. Prickled along his back and made he hair stand up along his neck. 

He brought his hand down and wiped the tear from his cheek, pinching the soft skin in between his thumb and index finger. Daryl closed his eyes, lips parting as he sniffled. “Go an’ sit in yer room. I’ll finish up...whatever y’got goin’ out here.” He pulled himself away and looked at the meat in the sink, nose crinkling. 

Daryl hesitated but pushed himself to his feet anyway, hand reaching up to grab his other arm, huddling in on himself. “What even is that?” Merle’s nose crinkled a bit as he looked at the meat in he strainer. 

“Venison.” Daryl admitted. “Jus’...brown it up ‘r whatever.” The boy turned and made his way for the bedroom, stepping over his father carefully -although nothing would have pleased him more than to stomp on the fuckers head. End it all. End all of the pain. 

Daryl laid on his bed, looking across the room to the similar mattress laying on a box spring on the floor. The messy bed, uncovered and exposing the quilted fabric of the slightly stained, second hand mattress below. There were old shirts that hadn’t been moved except for the off nights when Daryl laid bruised and battered and he’d grab the cloth and push it to his nose. He could smell the spice of Merle’s cologne, and mint of weed and bite of alcohol. Salt of sweat and other things he couldn’t quite identify with -not fully. 

Some nights, he’d lay on the bed, careful not to move the blankets, or shirts because he wanted to leave things just as Merle had. And he’d sleep, nose buried in his brother’s pillow till his Pa barged in, screaming bloody murder about how much of a little faggot he was. Going on and on and on about how disgusting it was; his attachment to his brother being wrong. 

After 10 to 20 minutes, the door opened, the smell of food reaching his nose. His head rolled up to see his brother, carrying a plate of freshly cooked strips of venison and a fresh bottle of whiskey. 

“Push o’er.” He demanded. 

Without saying a word, the boy pushed himself up and out of the way, letting his older brother sit on the mattress beside him. He rested the plate on both of their thighs and fingered the food. Daryl watched the steam roll off of it as Merle’s fingers plucked and released the hot meat a couple times before bringing it to his mouth. 

Merle always did that. Ate his food when it was too hot; bitching the entire time that it was too hot but never slowing down. 

Grabbing a piece of meat from the outer edges -one that must have been the first to hit the plate for the steam didn’t roll off quite as bad- and brought it to his mouth. He clenched it between his teeth for just a second before ripping it in half, allowing the salty juices to dance along his tongue. 

Chewing, he sniffled, letting his mind putter away to blank. Not a thought rolling through his head as he began to calm down. Grabbing the whiskey, Merle cracked the black plastic cap off and took a swig. Then handed it over to Daryl. 

The boy stopped and looked at it confused, then at his older brothers face. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand, not sure if Merle wanted him to hold it so he wouldn’t have to keep putting it on the floor, or if he was going to let him drink a little bit this time. 

When the older Dixon pulled the bottle away from his outreaching hand, Daryl got his answer. 

Dropping his hand to his lap, he shared a look with his brother, a look of clarity in his eyes as silent words were exchanged between the two, confirming that the younger brother understood what was going on. 

Bringing the bottle back in, Daryl’s eyes dropped to the opening and carefully he opened his mouth, pressing soft lips to the mouth of the bottle. His eyes closed as Merle tipped the bottle up, a tiny droplet dripping down his chin as the 15 year old's eyebrows furrowed. He pulled back abruptly, a sucking noise from the suction his lips caused, then a pop when the suction was broken completely. 

Merle chuckled when his innocent little brother coughed, face twisting. The fresh burning evident on his face as his cheeks started turning red already. 

“You’ll get used t’it.” Merle muttered. Reaching around him, he wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close. Not once did Daryl protest, resting his head against the chest of his older brother, grabbing more food and popping it in his mouth. Every few minutes, Merle would put the bottle to his lips again like a mother bottle feeding her baby and let him drink. 

Daryl enjoyed it. The closeness, sharing food with his brother. He felt like it was just them and there wasn’t the ever looming danger of the man outside that room, unconscious on the floor, ready to wake up at any moment. It was comforting being with his brother again after all of these years. 

And Merle, he enjoyed it too, but there were other reasons. The feeling of the gentle body beneath his arm, suckling on his booze like a little sheep with a bottle. He could make him owe him. Tell him booze ain’t cheap and he shared it. But he wasn’t going to do that. Yet. Not when he had other things in mind. Much different things. 

His eyes followed the curve of the boys waist as he rolled enough to rest his right knee over Merle’s right thigh, being careful not to knock the plate off of his lap. 

Running his hand down his brother’s back he wrapped his arm around his waist, feeling the way his body curved against his forearm and his ribs pressed against his side. Merle dragged his tongue across his lips as he held the whiskey bottle to his baby’s lips again, watching his whiskey virgin cheeks flush like a baby’s wind burnt cheeks. 

Leaning down he pressed his lips against Daryl’s cheek, the action prompting a chuckle from him which brought a smile to Merle’s lips. Smirking, Merle kissed his cheek by his ear, arm pulling him closer. 

“Dude,” Daryl tried to pull away, smile at his lips. 

“What? Y’don’t like it?” He kissed his jaw, raspy voice in his ear. 

“Yer damn beard scratches.” Daryl’s smile faded a bit, holding his head back, eyes closing. 

“Am I hurtin’ ya, ya baby?” He snorted. “How ‘bout this,” He leaned in and kissed his neck, lips pecking at the soft skin just below his ear. The boy’s breath hitched, inhaling through clenched teeth. 

“Bro,” Daryl pulled his head away. Merle laughed and pulled him back, forcing his head against his chest again. 

“Shuddup, puss.” He hadn’t wanted to stop. After spending so much time away, trying for his best behavior to get out early, he felt restrained. And he couldn’t exactly just get up to find a woman to plow. Not with their Pa passed out. Not leaving Daryl behind. 

Not tonight. 

But he couldn’t force anything out of Daryl. No, he loved his baby brother way too much to do something like to him. Way too much. 

Shifting he held his baby brother closer, resting his cheek against his head as Daryl’ picked the food from the plate slowly, getting comfortable. 

He couldn’t force it out of him, but if he didn’t get laid soon…

Time would tell. And no one said he couldn’t help matters along, no matter which way they leaned. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Merle deal with their father in the best way they can. When Merle realizes he's not going to get any sort of relief at home, he decides to head out. 
> 
> Daryl just hopes it doesn't turn around and bite him in the ass.

Warmth surrounded him. A pair of lips pressed against the back of his neck as a heaving body pressed against him. Strong arms held him tight from behind and as he shifted, it made the younger Dixon’s eyes close. If Merle could be any closer to him, he’d have to split himself down the back and let his older brother climb inside of him like a meat suit. 

Not that Daryl minded. Not at all to be honest. Daryl and Merle, although they shared a bedroom and each had their own beds, they hardly slept apart. Daryl was safe when his brother was there, holding him. Always the first to wake up when their father barged in. 

But there were awkward times. 

Waking up in the middle of the night to the bed shaking to find Merle, blankets slung off of him, legs spread wide, fist clenched tight around a thick, swollen cock. And when Merle realized he was awake and watching, he’d slow down, letting him see every motion. 

Pulling his foreskin over the thick, meaty head. Massaging each vein with a rough fingertip. The smell of sex filling the room. Smelling of salty sweat, cologne and arousal. Just enough to provoke a tingling in his hips and make the pit of his stomach swim. 

And he’d watch, and watch, eyes connecting as his brother let off a deep, guttural growl. Muscles in his thighs tightening, hips twitching and a deep groan as a shot of thick white cum shot up his stomach. 

Daryl didn’t know much about masturbation back then. He was only 12 and hadn’t had much experience with it. Still didn’t -given he’d learned at a young age to avoid feeling good all together. If he felt good, his father would end that, and he knew it would be in a way he wouldn’t like. 

But he could still see the way Merle smirked as he brought his hand up, dragging his tongue through the thick liquid lewdly before laughing as Daryl recoiled disgusted. 

He thought about it a lot. Especially since he’d vanished for 2 years. He thought about his brother as he laid in his bed, wanting to be held. To feel the bed shake occasionally and know what he was doing. He didn’t like it though; feeling those sorts of things for his brother. They were related for fucks sake! But Merle always made him feel safe. Always made him feel comfortable even when the older boy made it obvious Daryl wasn’t in control. 

It didn’t feel wrong watching him lick his own cum off his fingers; gross that it was cum, but not wrong. 

And it didn’t feel wrong now, sleeping side by side, wrapped up and craddled like a little spoon in a silverware drawer. Each warm breath on his ear feeling so comforting as it whisped down his neck and back. Even the sweat that gathered between his shoulder blades and his brother’s warm chest. 

He closed his eyes, waiting for sleep again as his brother shifted, pressing his hips into his rump. He rolled them, something pressing against his ass, finding its way between his asscheeks through thin underpants. 

“Merle,” Daryl whispered, trying to wake him up without success. His brother just moaned, planting little kisses along his neck. 

Sighing, the younger boy closed his eyes, teeth pinching his bottom lip as he felt his siblings’ swollen member twitch. 

He was afraid if he let it continue, his older brother might get mad. Or even worse, his father walking in and seeing him allowing his brother to grind away on him. 

“Merle.” he tried again, turning the upper part of his body to look into his brother's face. But just like before, Merle didn’t stir, moaning in his sleep as he tried to shift his weight. The younger boy could feel his stomach twist and his heart throb, his own loins starting to burn. That is, until a loud thudding made him jump and Merle’s eyes snapped open. 

Merle grunted and closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose as he stretched, bringing his arms up over his head. Daryl took this opportunity to roll away from him as pissed footsteps came for their door. “Pa,” Daryl warned. 

“Hm?” Merle looked up at him. 

“Pa-” Daryl warned again but it was too late. A fist pounded against the wood of the bedroom door, nudging a dresser Merle had slid into place a couple inches causing the boy’s head to snap up, his heart racing even more than it had been when he was laying with his brother. 

BAM!  
Another hit.  
WHAM!  
Another.  
“Fuckin’ wait a god damn minute!” Merle snarled. 

“Open this fuckin’ door right now ‘fore I bust it down!” his father screeched, furious. “I swear t’fuckin’ God if ya don’t open this fuckin’ door when I get innar I’mma split yer fuckin’ skull-”

 

“I SAID GIVE ME A FUCKIN’ MINUTE YA LIMP DICK FUCKIN’ BLOWHARD!” Merle screamed, overlapping his threats. 

With a roar of rage, Will started kicking the door in again, Daryl starting to hyperventilate as he pushed his back against the wall. 

Rolling out of bed Merle grabbed the dresser and practically threw it across the room, wood splintering a bit as it fell face first to the floor. The moment the door opened and Will’s beet red face made an appearance, Merle stopped him.

He let his fist fly, railing his Pa in the mouth and making him stagger back. Merle continued on after him, bulging muscles and veins up his neck. There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, a body hitting the wall of their little trailer and screams before silence. 

For a moment, when the heavy steps came towards the room, Daryl curled up, pulling his knees to his chest as he covered his head. He was ready to swing if he had to -even if he couldn’t see through the tears that ran down his cheeks. He closed his eyes for just a second when the bed shifted and he lashed out in vain. 

Strong fingers grabbed his wrists and he shouted an unintelligible threat, image of anger and strength shattered by a broken voice. “Don’t’chu hit me! Don’t’chu touch me!” He pulled back, swinging his foot around to kick at him but another hand stopped that move too, pulling him to the edge of the bed and forcing him on his back. 

“Ya better knock that shit off.” Merle snarled, smell of whiskey and day old meat on his breath. Daryl stopped, the tear blurred vision in his eyes breaking with the gravity and his brother’s image became clear to him like an Angel emerging through the luminescent dust particles of the bedroom. “I’mma have t’bust that lil ass o’yers too.” He let go of his wrist and ankle and pulled back off the bed. “Pussy boy, screamin’, like that’s gonna help.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the jacket pocket he’d stashed by the bed and popped one in his mouth. “When you gonna grow some damn balls? Huh?” Merle snorted as he lit the end and inhaled deep. 

“I don’t like fightin’ with Pa like you do.” Daryl admitted, sitting up with a groan, wiping at his eyes. “I hate it. Why we gotta fight like this so damn much?” He spat. Merle pulled the cigarette from his lips as the harsh smoke tickled his throat and coughed. The sound of phlegm crackled and popped before he turned. Grabbing an empty beer bottle off the floor he spit into it, Daryl’s upper lip curling in disgust. “Man that’s sick.” He muttered. 

“We gotta fight cause he starts it all the fuckin’ time.” Merle ignored his comment. “That’s how the world is lil brother. World starts t’bite, gotta bite back.” He looked down at his hips and grunted, pushing his half hard cock down into the leg of his pants, his little brother’s eyes watching. 

“Why we still inna place where we gotta bite back? School says all we gotta do is call someone an’ they’ll take us away.” Daryl sat up, legs crossed. “Arrest Pa fer bein’ a douchebag-” 

“That what the school say?” Merle laughed. “Darlene, Darlene Darlene y’stupid, fuck headed son-offa-bitch.” Daryl’s face twisted at the name and frowned. “They ain’t gonna send Pa t’prison. Even if they do, what they gonna do? I ain’t gonna get taken away, I’m 25 fuckin’ years ol’. But you,” he pointed. “They gonna send ya away. Far away. Prolly t’Atlanta an’ they gonna put ya in a nice lil home an’ make ya bathe. Take away all yer arrows from that pretty lil crossbow ya been savin’ up fer. Gonna make ya...work real hard in school. Fuck, they prolly gonna stick ya with an asshole worse than Pa an’ the moment ya try an’ rail the lil prick you’ll get it good.” He snorted. 

“You don’t know that.” Daryl muttered. His older brother’s eyebrows raised as if he were insulted. A wicked sneer rolled across his lips as he spat. 

“No? I don’t know that? Daryl, they send Pa t’jail, he’s out in 4 years time. He’ll find ya an’ he’ll make that lil ass o’yers his own personal cock cover. An’ I ain’t gonna be able t’do shit cause they gonna separate me an’ you-”

“Why can’t I jus’ live with you then?” Daryl interrupted. “Why they gotta take me away, you’re 25.” 

“You think I can take care’a yer ass?” Merle snorted. “I can’t even take care’a my own fuckin’ shit, an’ they ain’t gonna let you do that shit anyway cause I been t’jail so damn much!” He threw his hand in the air, spinning cigarette smoke about him like a sparkler on the fourth of July. “Y’like livin’ here? Where ya can camp an’ smoke an’ do all this shit?” He brought up. Daryl didn’t say anything right away, just dropped his eyes down to the floor, bringing his thumb to his mouth to chew on the skin around his nails as he thought about it. “You ain’t gonna be able t’do that livin’ nowhere else. You get taken away, you gotta live by rules. No campin’ out whenever! No drinkin’, no cigarettes-” Stepping forward Merle slapped his hand away from his face. “No suckin’ yer fuckin’ thumb!” 

Daryl looked at him shocked and hurt but he understood. He understood the severity of the picture Merle painted -even if he did believe he could probably adjust. But what he didn’t realize was that Merle didn’t paint his picture accurately. No, he wanted Daryl to stay. He wanted his baby brother close to him, home. Not within the system and floating around from home to home. Merle wanted to scare him out of thinking being in a foster home was better. 

“So we jus’ gotta-”

“We jus’ gotta live with it.” Merle finished, speaking softly. He watched the expression on his baby’s face for a long moment. Watching his eyes flick back and forth as he came to terms with their situation. He watched the hope of getting away flicker out; a light he selfishly snuffed out. “Hey,” He spoke again finally after a few minutes, a smile twitching at his lips. “It ain’t that bad, is it?” He stepped forward and crouched in front of him. “Y’got yer big brother Merle here.” He reached up, running his fingers through his hair. “Don’t look so damn doomed.” He gave him a light slap on the cheek. “Gonna have t’fuck that look off’a yer damn sour face.” he gently bumped his knuckles against his chin. 

Daryl knew what his brother meant but the way he worded it brought a flush to his face. His eyelashes fluttered as he looked down, chewing his lip. Merle pushed himself to his feet and grunted, feeling a bit of stomach acid burn at the back of his throat. “C’mon shithead,” he muttered. Daryl looked up at him confused, lips parting as Merle dragged unevenly cut nails across the flesh on the back of his neck. “b’fore Pa gets back up, better wash our asses an’ get the fuck outta here.” he didn’t wait for Daryl to respond, gently clapping a palm against the side of his knee. 

The younger boy pushed himself off the bed and sniffled. He hated how emotional he got. How easily he cried. He wished he could just shrug this sort of thing off, act like it didn’t bother him like Merle did.

But Merle had 10 years head start on him. 10 years before he was born to prepare and steel himself against the abusive prick that was his father. So there was still hope yet that, by the time Daryl turned 25, he’d be just as closed off and hardened to the whole thing. 

He followed Merle to the bathroom and slipped just inside the door. He watched as Merle stripped himself free of his boxers and muscle shirt. Daryl watched, eyes tracing his back as he clicked the door shut behind him, hands behind his back almost shyly. 

There wasn’t a reason for the awkwardness, they’d been showering together for years. Since Daryl turned 3 to be exact. It was a whole...safety in numbers sort of mentality, and sharing a shower saved on water. But it was different, knowing Merle had gone to jail. That he wasn’t the only person Merle had showered with -and that possibly could have lead to more. 

Leaning in, Merle turned the shower on, setting the temperature to almost scalding. Daryl didn’t move, just staring down at the floor with a blank expression. Shaking the hot water from his hand he pulled back and looked back at Daryl. “Y’gonna get in?” Merle grunted, looking back at his baby brother, noticing his withdrawal. 

“Y’know I don’t like it that hot.” Daryl muttered, trying to keep his eyes to the floor. 

“O’course ya don’t.” His older brother snorted. Walking over he reached out and grabbed the bottom of Daryl’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Daryl gasped, fighting him a little, face feeling hot as Merle yanked the cloth from over his head. 

“I can undress m’self.” He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, wanting privacy and to not be so close to Merle. He wasn’t sure why, or what changed it. Nothing between the two had changed. Merle always did nasty perverted shit; whipping his dick out and wiggling it at him, or making lewd gestures or sounds. But he always just...shrugged it off, saw it at nothing more than his older brother being a douche. 

But now when Merle moaned, or wiggled his tongue, or got naked, he didn’t feel like it was just....nothing. It felt like something. Something had fallen and once it landed in his belly started swelling up till he couldn’t swallow, or bend over, or move. 

“Yeah well, yer doin’ a shit fuckin’ job.” Merle grabbed his arms and pushed them to his chest, shoving him back against the door. Grabbing his pants he pulled them down, letting the stagnant air rush over him. Daryl closed his eyes, tilting his head back as they were worked down over his knees and down his calves to his ankles, legs trembling a bit. “Lift yer legs.” Merle demanded. Daryl didn’t hesitate, following his order. 

Once his clothes were pulled from his body, Merle grabbed each arm, squeezing up by his shoulders and lifted him off the floor. Daryl hissed, squirming a bit as he dropped his gaze to the floor beneath him like a cat terrified of being dropped. 

“Merle,” he gasped, warning him with a single breath that he didn’t want to be dropped. Putting him in the shower, Merle climbed in next and pulled the curtain shut before pulling the scrawny, wide shouldered, awkward boy towards him and under the hot water. 

Daryl whined and stepped back to avoid getting burned. Merle -not paying attention to the boy and instead, working on getting himself thoroughly wet- chuckled and looked at him. 

“When y’gonna stop bein’ a pussy boy?” He reached out and grabbed him, pulling into the burning stream of water again. “Y’know how’ta beat it?” He asked as he watched his baby brother grind his teeth, fighting him to pull back as his body tensed up. Without waiting on an answer he reached forward and gave his body a rub down. A quick one over the sensitive parts of the boy’s body he knew would hurt the most -bottom, chest, arms, lower belly. 

When he got to the groin, Daryl took over, rubbing his palms across his skin while he waited to adjust. Chuckling, Merle turned his attention back to getting himself clean, grabbing himself some body wash and scrubbing at his body good, then shampoo. 

Merle had curly, curly hair -a curse he got from their Ma. Daryl on the other hand ended up with straight, manageable locks like their father. Thick and soft like a kitten. 

Once Merle had his head all sudsed up he stepped out from under the water and moved to wash Daryl’s back and slather some shampoo in his thick ass kitten mane, with only little whines as protest. 

The younger Dixon knew he was too old for this sort of attention from Merle, but to be truthful, he liked it. Being fussed and fawned over, his hair washed and body scrubbed like an older sibling cat in the absence of the mother. And even as he moved his hands up to push Merle’s away, his brother knew exactly where to grab, how hard to pull, and what moves to do to counter his protests. 

“Rinse yer hair.” Merle gave him a crack on the ass, making him stagger just a bit and curse under his breath. “If ya ain’t got the balls t’say that shit outloud, pussy boy, shut yer shit spitter.” Merle grunted, grabbing the conditioner -a step he himself didn’t need because of how short his hair was. 

Once Daryl was rinsed, Merle slathered the conditioner in his hair and pulled him out of the way so he could rinse out his own top of messy locks. Although it wasn’t really cold out, Daryl still shivered a bit in the exposure to the chilled air, waiting to step back under the warmth his brother got him addicted to. 

Once all of the shampoo was rinsed from his hair and body, Merle stepped out and dried off. “I’ll get Pa up an’ put in bed.” He grunted, taking a little extra time to dry off his hair and his curly, semi brown bush cushioning the bed of his still semi-hard cock. “Figured he’d be easier t’deal with if he woke up in bed first.” He added. 

“Yer leavin’?” Daryl looked at him through the shower curtain -which was basically a clear sheet of plastic. 

“Yep.” Merle replied simply, hanging the towel back up for Daryl to use and grabbing his clothes off the floor. 

“Why?” Daryl couldn’t help but feel the onset of panic as it started to creep in. What if Merle got arrested again? What if he didn’t come back? 

“Cause I gotta pecker t’pop in the pussy o’a slut an’ I ain’t gonna sit here half hard an’ babysit yer pussy ass.” Merle replied irritated. 

“But Pa-” Daryl attempted, but Merle shut him down before he could finish. 

“Pa ain’t gonna do shit. Give ‘im some booze an’ breakfast an’ he’ll be fine. Petey an’ his friends’r comin’ o’er anyway.” He reassured him. 

“How th’ fuck y’know that?” Daryl accused, wanting to stump him, but Merle knew the signs of dealing with Dad alone better than he did. 

“He gotta cube o’shit booze. Meanin’ he’s pretty sure whoever he got ain’t bringin’ their own shit. Just cook’em somthin’ good an’ he’ll fuck right off.” Merle smirked, leaving the bathroom before Daryl could say anything else. 

The boy stared at the wall, feeling the water start to cool off to a lukewarm. Swallowing back his fear, he rinsed the conditioner out of his hair as the water turned frigid and shut the shower down. 

Climbing out, he dried off, wrapping a towel around his waist. Grabbing his clothes he made his way out but Merle was already gone. God it didn’t take him long to vanish when he was determined to get something -sex, food, money, drugs. 

Heading to his room he slipped on a pair of jeans and a cotton, tank, stashing his wallet in his back pocket. 

There wasn’t anything he could do. He was stuck there with their Pa whether they liked it or not. Guess he just had to suck it up and deal.


End file.
